As a former die-hard follower of the World Wrestling Federation, I understand the fever and excitement that surrounds a wrestling match. Professional wrestling is an example of our violent sports fantasies becoming a reality. Though the visceral joy of theatrical violence emerges in most any contact sport, extravagant showmanship and an exaggerated sense of self-importance make professional wrestlers real-life caricatures of our muscleman action figures. Yet few films have portrayed the searing contrast between such flashy performances and the bland reality lurking behind the sport as well as Darren Aronofsky's enthralling film "The Wrestler."
Best actor Oscar nominee Mickey Rourke plays Randy "The Ram" Robinson (born Robin Ramzinski), a faded pro-wrestler who has seen the last of his days in the spotlight. The Ram spends his time on a minor wrestling circuit performing in Veterans of Foreign Wars halls and signing autographs in American Legion centers. Inside the ring he's invincible, loved by the crowds that he reciprocally adores. Outside of the ring, however, The Ram is simply Randy -- a fractured shell of a man trying to repair damaged relationships and accept the reality of his bleak life.
The film's cinematography helps paint a dreary but telling portrait. Cinematographer Maryse Alberti's close-ups show the extent of Randy's keloid scars, bloody sores and oozing gashes. A tight shot of staples being removed from Randy's chest depicts him in alternating states of distress and appreciation. We know he's the kind of fool who would do anything to create the best show possible, regardless of risk.
Aronofsky's skillful direction helps audiences understand the root of Randy's problems -- his inability to connect with the world outside of the ring. Rather than fabricating drama through weighty periods of introspection or elaborately shot scenes of New Jersey's dreary stagnation, Aronofsky conveys Randy's despondency only through the colorless truth of his everyday life. Randy is a relic of the 1980s, holding tight to his former fame because it is the only real sense of fulfillment he has ever had.
"This is where I belong," he asserts before stepping into the ring.
Randy's bulging muscles and glittering spandex are all that have kept him from the nameless mediocrity that threatens most washed-up wrestlers. Wrestling is his joy, salvation, addiction and ultimate weakness. It has consumed Randy to the point that Robin Ramzinski becomes the character he's forced to play to get by in the outside world between matches.
"The Wrestler" has been rightfully coined Mickey Rourke's comeback film. At times I wondered if screenwriter Robert Siegel wrote the script specifically for the fallen film star. Though Rourke, best known for his sex-symbol status attained in "Nine 1/2 Weeks" (1986), was once the midnight fantasy of multitudes of adoring women, his formerly smooth baby face now resembles taut strips of sandpaper. The chiseled creases of his skin provide a roadmap of a series of bad decisions and years of hard living.
"I don't hear as good as I used to, and I ain't as pretty as I used to be. But I'm still here. I'm The Ram," his character states in the film.
Replace "The Ram" with "Mickey" and the line still rings true. Rourke's here -- a bit worse for the wear, but still back and swinging.
Without his looks, Rourke must enchant audiences with only his talent, vulnerability and newfound repentance. True to the hype, he does not disappoint. He surpasses all expectations by infusing Randy with a sense of misery and quiet incertitude that must be drawn from the depths of his own desperate, frail, but unbreakable soul. It is unsettling to watch, but undeniably captivating.
The film's plot advances when a health problem forces an unwilling Randy to leave the world of wrestling and adapt to the reality -- a world devoid of pile drivers and referees. As he searches for a sense of identity, he is mocked at every turn. When he asks for additional weekend shifts at the grocery store where he works, his boss snidely asks, "Is that when you sit on guys' faces?" Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), the stripper of his dreams, won't upgrade him from customer status, and his 20-something daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood) is loath to glance at his worn face.
Yet despite the obstacles he encounters, Randy is given every opportunity for redemption both inside and outside of the ring. He has all the chances in the world to repair the damage he's done -- in cinema-speak, that would be three chances -- but his unrealistic dreams of a triumphant comeback overshadow his potential for change.
"The only place I get hurt is out there [in the real world]. The world don't give a shit about me," he finally realizes and again turns back to his sanctuary.
One of the more subtle but significant elements of the script is Randy's relationships with the women in his life. He drools over the scantily clad Cassidy, who freely shows Randy her sympathy and concern, but isn't ashamed to make him pay for a lap dance. Their relationship, though unstable and undefined, serves as one of the few bright moments in their cumbersome lives. Randy also tries to mend his broken relationship with his daughter, who is consumed by the residual angst of her painful teenage years. Unable to keep her father away, Stephanie eventually falls under his spell.
Though Tomei's performance earned her an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress, Wood's performance resonates far more deeply. Every time Rourke looks at Wood, it seems as though he's on the edge of tears. Wood has the same effect on audiences -- we sense the storm of emotions she feels when she looks at the man who has abandoned her multiple times, but still has the audacity to plead for her love.
With layered acting and nuanced direction, "The Wrestler" skillfully avoids the trappings of potentially underwhelming characters and subject matter. Somehow the humble film excels, signaling the return of a classic Rocky-esque underdog and a bruised but triumphant leading man.